


Distortion

by laireshi



Category: Avengers (Comics), Marvel 616, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, Avengers Vol. 5 (2013), Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fix-It of Sorts, Hopeful Ending, M/M, Marvel 616/MCU Crossover, Mentions of Canonical Character Deaths, Post-Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie), Self-cest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-29
Updated: 2018-05-29
Packaged: 2019-05-15 04:50:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,853
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14783882
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/laireshi/pseuds/laireshi
Summary: After the end of Infinity War, MCU Tony finds himself on Earth-616. Facing alternate universe Steve and Tony who are still recovering from their own disaster, he gets ideas on how to save his world and maybe even fix his relationship with Steve.





	Distortion

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kelslk](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kelslk/gifts).
  * Translation into 中文 available: [Distortion](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16422020) by [Celeste_030](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Celeste_030/pseuds/Celeste_030)
  * Inspired by [Art for Distortion](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14788557) by [kelslk](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kelslk/pseuds/kelslk). 



> This is written for the Cap-Iron Man 2018 Reverse Bang challenge, for the _absolutely amazing_ art by the lovely [kelslk](http://kelslk-art.tumblr.com/). Thanks for being the best, most patient partner and giving me the opportunity to write out all my 616/MCU Tony feels! You can view it [on tumblr here](http://kelslk-art.tumblr.com/post/174380057489/my-art-contribution-to-the-2018-capim-reverse) \- make sure to tell her it's great! 
> 
> Big, big thanks to [runningondreams](http://archiveofourown.org/users/runningondreams) for a great beta job. I honestly don't know what I'd do without you. And also thanks to [Comicsohwhyohwhy](http://archiveofourown.org/users/comicsohwhyohwhy), [navaan](http://archiveofourown.org/users/navaan), and [faite](http://hellogarbagetime.tumblr.com/) for being supportive when I was struggling with writing.
> 
> THIS FIC TAKES PLACE AFTER INFINITY WAR, BE WARNED THERE ARE SPOILERS HERE. However, there are no spoilers for Avengers 4. I avoid interviews, behind the scenes pictures, and any and all rumours. Please also don't spoil it for me :) As for the 616 timeline, this takes place after hickmanvengers, in some world without SIM or Hydra Cap storylines.
> 
> And yes, both pairs of Steve/Tony get a hopeful ending!

Standing frozen still in the middle of his lab, his eyes on its only other occupant, Tony could only think that he didn’t want to have to explain _this_ to Steve.

It wouldn’t be an issue, normally. They had hectic lives. Between Skrulls and LMDs and alternate universes, they’d all seen their own doppelgängers walk around. They had protocols on how to proceed, for god’s sake. It shouldn’t be _a situation_.

But the longer Tony looked at the man standing in the middle of his workshop, who clearly both was and wasn’t himself, the more unsettled he felt. He knew immediately, without any tests, that the newcomer _was_ him. A Skrull would look just like him, and this man, for all his similarity otherwise, was shorter and had brown eyes. He must’ve been a version of Tony from another universe.

And that was a problem.

The topic of alternate universes was not something Tony wanted to touch with Steve; not ever again. They were on the same team again, but Tony was sure that was at least half because Steve wanted to keep an eye on him. The incursions were over, but their friendship was still as broken as it had been the moment Tony decided to betray Steve for the higher good.

“What the hell—” the other man started to say. 

Tony finally saw what he should’ve noticed immediately: the blood on the other man’s face, the pallor of his skin, the way he was clutching at his stomach.

Tony rushed to his side as he fell.

***

Tony could feel Steve’s disapproval radiating off him as they stood outside the operational theatre, side by side. “So who is he?”

“Like you don’t know the answer,” Tony said. 

“I was told interdimensional travel would be impossible.” Steve crossed his arms, his meaning clear. _Did you lie to me again?_

“My sensors showed the other universes were gone, but the topic is Reed’s speciality, not mine.” And Reed was who knew where, if he was even still alive. 

“At least it’s not _really_ you in intensive care,” Steve whispered, and Tony looked at him in surprise. Steve coughed awkwardly, and Tony was about to ask what that was about when the door opened and a nurse went out.

“Mister Stark,” she said. “We might need assistance with the device in the man’s chest.”

Tony nodded immediately. “It’s not my tech”—except that it was—“but I’ll do what I can.” 

He followed her to change into scrubs and went through the disinfection process. He tapped on the watch he was wearing and it extended into an Iron Man gauntlet over his hand. “I’ll need this,” he explained. 

The hospital was located close to the Avengers Tower. They were used to dealing with weird injuries and weirder solutions. The nurse just nodded and ushered him into the theatre.

“He had a stab wound in his stomach,” one of the doctors said, not wasting any time. “It was serious. We stabilised him, but it’s like there’s some sort of technological mesh in the wound; we can’t close it and it keeps bleeding. And we’re assuming the chest device is a pacemaker—”

“One moment,” Tony muttered, aiming the gauntlet at his other self. A ray of blue light slid over his prone form, and Tony tried not to pay too much attention to the wound. He might be used to witnessing bad injuries at the battlefields, but if it was _him_ hurt, he was usually unconscious for this part. Seeing it was . . . unsettling. 

He finished the scan and turned the gauntlet towards himself, using the repulsor node to display a screen in front of him. The bio-data and everything he could discover about the other man’s tech was there. He knew how annoyed he’d be if someone did that to _his_ inventions, but he was trying to save the man’s life, and anyway he couldn’t be that far from Tony’s own ideas. 

“It’s not _just_ a pacemaker,” Tony muttered, mostly to himself. “It’s— _oooh,_ nanotech, that is _cool—_ crazy insane, but cool—wonder why he didn’t just inject—”

“Mister Stark.” The doctor interrupted him, her voice serious. “Can you help us or not?”

“Sorry,” Tony said. “Uh. That thing in this chest. Don’t touch it. Did the light ever go out?”

“It fluctuated a bit.”

Tony cursed. He tapped his own RT, a gesture that normally calmed him down. His other self did not employ repulsor node tech, at least not to power his own heart. On the scans, it looked a bit like a miniaturised arc reactor. Tony had played with the idea, but the RT nodes had made more sense in the end. This other him had clearly chosen a different way. It could be fun to _talk_ about it, once the man was conscious. As things were, Tony wasn’t completely sure if what he was about to suggest wouldn’t harm the man more, but he didn’t have any other ideas. It was possible that the interdimensional travel—or whatever he’d gone through just before it, to emerge here in such a state—had damaged the arc reactor, and Tony needed to stabilise it. 

“The device—the pacemaker-like one,” he said for the sake of the others. “It controls the nanotech he’s using. I think it’s trying to fix him up, but it’s broken; it’s only making things worse for him and for you.” Even as he was speaking, Tony opened a side compartment in his gauntlet and pulled out a thin wire. “We have to stop it doing that, but obviously we can’t stop the pacemaker, so I’ll stabilise it.” 

What a good thing Steve was outside. He would hate the idea.

“How do we do that?” the doctor asked.

Tony pulled off his t-shirt, pressing the cable against the side of the RT. “I’ll hook it up to this,” he said, tapping the RT again. 

“I can’t let you harm yourself just to save my patient,” she said. 

“It won’t hurt me.” Or so Tony hoped, at least. “Come on, you wanted my help, this is it. You’ll be able to close that wound.”

She nodded. “Okay.”

“One more thing,” Tony said. “I _might_ black out for a moment. _Do not_ disconnect the cables.”

And before anyone could protest, Tony took the few steps to the operating table and put the other end of the cable to the other Tony’s arc reactor. 

For a while, nothing happened.

Then there was a feeling, almost like the Bleeding Edge suit used to feel, and Tony looked down at his hands and saw unfamiliar armour surrounding them.

“Go, fix him up!” he told the doctors as the armour covered him whole, chestplate and helmet flowing into place in seconds.

It was just a moment; not even enough time to take in the suit’s interface. Then the armour retreated again, and Tony swayed, reaching for something to keep upright. He felt someone helping him, but opening his eyes seemed like an impossible task. His heart was pounding wildly. He was breathing way too fast, which probably was good, because if he’d damaged the RT, he wouldn’t be breathing at all. He blindly put his hand to his RT, keeping the cable securely pressed to it. 

“Is it . . .”

“It’s working,” the nurse from earlier—she must’ve been the one helping him up—said. “We were able to close the wound.”

“Good,” Tony said, and the world went black.

***

He came to rapidly, almost shockingly fast as if someone had poured a bucket of icy cold water over him. He sat up, his hand automatically going for the RT, and even before he could open his eyes he felt the cable attached to it. 

Ah. The impossible interdimensional guest, bleeding out in Tony’s lab. And apparently someone had found them both beds and a quiet room to recover in.

Which would mean that Steve was probably nearby somewhere, fully informed on what Tony had done to save his double. Wonderful.

“Nice night light you have there,” the other man rasped out, and his voice was nothing like Tony’s but his accent was the same, “But as far as I know, I’m the only person in the world who—”

“In _your_ world,” Tony corrected. “You _are_ Tony Stark, aren’t you?”

His scan of the man’s tech told him as much—not a Skrull, DNA match, all of that—but maybe his name was Robert Evans. Who could tell?

“In my world?” 

Tony turned to look at him. He was still hooked up to several IV bags and a variety of medical equipment surrounding both of them, soft beeps recording vitals and the gentle whirr of motors in the otherwise silent room—and only then did Tony notice that their beds were almost pressed together to allow for the cable still connecting them. There were the heart monitor electrodes on his chest, but the rest of the devices was clearly for the other Tony. He was still pale, but his face had been cleaned. He was also as shirtless as Tony, his whole midsection covered in white bandages.

And he was looking at Tony with no understanding in his eyes.

“Uh,” Tony said, eloquently. If this other Tony was from a world that didn’t share their experiences—maybe before the incursions it had been closed off somehow? Maybe that was why Tony’s monitors hadn’t picked it up?—then there would be even more explaining to do.

“Okay,” the other Tony said. “Okay, so the theory of parallel worlds is true, I’m not sure why I’m even surprised, if Strange can look into—” He broke off at that.

Tony couldn’t help but laugh at that. “I hate magic too,” he said.

But his counterpart didn’t even smile. He stared at his hands with horror, as if seeing something that wasn’t there. “He’s dead,” he said, and Tony felt himself go cold.

Was that why this other Tony had been so injured?

“They’re all dead,” he said, his voice utterly broken, and Tony felt his heart break too.

This was his nightmare. One that he’d lived through and made himself forgot. His friends, dead. _Steve_ , dead.

And himself, alive.

Tony wasn’t sure what to say. He had never exactly tried to comfort himself. 

But the other him was hyperventilating, and Tony couldn’t let a guy that injured get into a heart attack.

“Hey,” he said softly, touching a hand to his other self’s arm. “Calm and steady, Iron Man. You’re here. You’re safe for the time being, but you also have no idea what really happened on your side. You might still be able to help your friends.”

The other Tony calmed down enough to be able to speak, his dark eyes wide and full of pain. “There’s nothing left to fix. Thanos wiped out half of the universe.”

“Then someone has to take care of what’s left,” Tony said. 

He could see it in his other self’s eyes: _please let me rest, why does it have to be me?_ , but also a steely resolve already forming underneath it, _I will do it because no one else can_.

Finally, the other Tony visibly tried to compose himself. He tapped on the cable connecting to his arc reactor. “What is this?”

“Take a guess,” Tony challenged.

The other him sighed. “Okay, I’ll be straight, then. Why did you save me?”

“You needed help,” Tony said, because it was that simple.

The other Tony laughed, humourlessly, like it was either that or crying. 

“Maybe it was a mistake,” he said. 

Tony’s hand shot out to stop the other Tony from disconnecting the cable. “I doubt that reactor’s steady.”

The other Tony winced. “The armour will need fixing,” he said, “but my arc reactor is back to normal.”

He pulled the cable off and offered the free end back to Tony. “And it’s not like yours, I’d wager. It’s not—I don’t need it, it’s just the armour.”

The lie was so obvious Tony almost laughed, but something stopped him—to try and lie that badly? The other him _really_ didn’t want to think of the real reasons for the reactor. Tony wondered briefly how he’d gotten the injury, but decided against asking. He doubted it was necessary for him to know, and he didn’t want to do any more damage than he already had.

He pulled the cable from his RT node and started pulling off the electrodes. He was fine. He felt weak, but he was sure it’d pass in a moment. It was the other Tony who had almost died.

Tony told him as much, and his counterpart raised an eyebrow. “My arc reactor should speed up my healing,” he said. 

“It mostly inhibited it, yesterday,” Tony countered. 

He couldn’t say anything else, because the door opened and a doctor rushed inside. He stopped short, seeing Tony standing, and sighed. “Mister Stark,” he said.

“Sorry,” Tony said, half-meaning it. He should’ve expected something like that when he disconnected the wires.

He hesitated, looking at his counterpart, still lying in bed. Maybe there was something to the faster healing—he was definitely in a better shape than a man just out of a life-saving surgery had any right to be. But he was also clearly still not all right. He’d escaped a highly traumatic event on his home world, and he didn’t have anyone but Tony here.

Tony nodded at him. “I’ll get some clothes and my tablet and I’ll be back,” he said.

The other Tony’s surprise was clear, but he just nodded. 

***

Steve was waiting just outside the ward. Naked relief showed on his face for just a moment when he saw Tony walking out. Then he glared. 

“Do you _have_ to put yourself in danger—”

“Was I supposed to let him die?” Tony shot back. He was still on edge after hearing what happened in the other Tony’s world, his story pulled straight from Tony’s nightmares. He didn’t want to argue with Steve and he didn’t know how _not_ to argue with him. 

He was tired. He’d tried to hide that from his counterpart, but he was. He ached all over, and he needed a shower and a coffee and a moment to _think_. Time was, he’d go to Steve when he needed to talk, but now . . . 

“We don’t even know who he is,” Steve said. 

Tony raised an eyebrow. “We don’t usually ask people for identification before helping them.”

“You weren’t so preoccupied with anyone living on another Earth not too long ago.” Steve’s voice was cutting. 

“Well, you could say I took a page out of your book, but clearly whatever I do is just the wrong choice, isn’t it?” Tony turned away. “I _am_ sorry for the incursions, Steve. But I won’t apologise for saving an innocent man.”

“Is he?” Steve asked, and Tony could finish that sentence. _He’s you, so how can he be innocent?_

“Thanos destroyed his world,” Tony said finally, and he heard Steve’s sharp intake of breath. 

“Where are you going?” Steve asked after a moment, as if forgetting their argument.

“To get some stuff from the Tower,” Tony said. “I want to stay with him.”

Steve hesitated. “I could—I can stay with him when you’re gone.”

Tony shook his head, and Steve, just for a second, looked dejected, so Tony hurried to explain. “I think—I think you might’ve died in his world. Thanos, remember?” It was hard to even speak the words. Tony bit on his lip. “Can you stay outside, though? He’s not really in any shape to get up yet, but he does have quicker healing than a baseline human.”

“Sure,” Steve said, and Tony nodded his thanks before leaving at as fast pace as he could manage without feeling too much like he was running away.

***

When Tony came back to the hospital, the other him was asleep. The cut on his face was mostly gone, but his eyes still looked bruised. Tony backed out of the room, closing the door quietly. He sighed. He wanted to help. Not just because it was himself, in a way, but because the man so clearly _needed_ that help and didn’t think he’d get any. 

“You can go home, Steve,” he said. Steve had been in the hospital for almost a day now, all throughout the surgery and later, when Tony was unconscious. He needed rest, and Tony needed some space. Even so, he expected Steve to argue and was surprised when Steve just nodded.

“Tell me if something changes,” he said. 

Tony found a doctor, got himself updated on his counterpart’s condition—and this was officially _Avengers business, right, you did sign the NDA?—_ and returned to the room. The RT used to make Tony heal quicker, too, and he rather missed the Bleeding Edge armour now, looking at the arc reactor and its pale blue glow. The doctor had said that he’d definitely need to stay in the hospital one more day, but might be let go after that, and Tony was glad for that much. He doubted any version of himself liked hospitals.

He sat semi-comfortably in the hospital chair—the bed he’d been on had been removed—and pulled out his tablet. He really could’ve used Reed’s help now, he mused wistfully as he accessed the data on alternate universes and how to find them.

He set the tablet down an undefined amount of time later, annoyed. He’d need his full lab equipment if he was going to find any useful information. He looked up at the other Tony and was surprised to find him awake.

“Didn’t want to bother you if you were working,” the other Tony said.

Tony raised an eyebrow. “Bother me? You were dying yesterday.”

“And you don’t know me,” his counterpart said. “But you risked your life to help me. You came back. You don’t owe me anything, and yet . . .”

Tony huffed a laugh. “You’d do the same for me.”

He didn’t add that neither of them would care very much about saving his own life. That was really painfully obvious. 

***

They walked out of the hospital together two days later, Tony, the other Tony, and Carol, who as it turned out was someone that the other Tony didn’t know from his world. Tony knew he was only delaying the inevitable in asking Steve to stay back at the Tower for now, and he suspected that if the other him had known it, he’d have been annoyed at being coddled, but he couldn’t help it. He had lived through Steve’s death. He had no memories of it for a reason.

The other Tony, wearing sunglasses and a hoodie—they weren’t that similar, but the fewer pictures the better—stopped a few steps later. 

“I took the fight to Thanos,” he said, so quietly Tony struggled to hear him, “Hoping I’d save New York. I never could protect this place properly.”

“I can see every Tony Stark likes to blame himself for things way beyond his control that aren’t his fault at all.” Carol looked at the other Tony. “What Thanos did? Is on Thanos. What you do _now_ is on you.”

Tony didn’t reply to her. He turned around, raised his eyebrows. “So you stuck to the Tower,” he said in a cheerful, faked voice.

Tony decided to go with it. “It’s home,” he said, and a painful expression passed through his counterpart’s face. “Not for you, I assume.”

“Nah, it doesn’t matter. I sold it. It’s just a building and the prices in NY are crazy.”

Tony raised his eyebrows. “You—”

Losing the Tower, first to Osborn and then to the Serpent, were some of the most painful experiences of Tony’s life. He couldn’t fathom even _considering_ selling it. He would leave, if Steve told him to, because it was Steve’s home too and Tony didn’t really deserve it anymore, but he would hate doing it. 

“Well, I’m not selling that view,” he finished lamely. “Come on.”

It was a short walk. The other Tony walked slowly, at times looking curious and at times just heartbroken. His face really was an open book, which made Tony feel vaguely uneasy. 

They were almost at the Tower when they heard the shouting. Tony turned immediately and swore under his breath. A giant slimy monster up the street was wreaking cafe patios and chasing pedestrians up the street. It looked like something Stephen should handle, really, but he was nowhere to be seen and it wasn’t as if Tony wouldn’t offer to help anyway, it was just . . .

“The slimy ones are the worst,” Carol complained, as if reading his mind, before suiting up and flying up. 

Tony turned on his Avengers identicard. “Avengers Assemble!” 

The armour was on the way to him—he just had the wristwatches with him, hadn’t thought he’d need more than that in the hospital. He really should’ve known better.

“Tony, go—”

But the other Tony wasn’t next to him anymore. Tony swore again. The suit caught up with him at that moment and he used it to scan the crowd for his counterpart. In the distance, he could see Carol already punching the monster. 

He found the other Tony further up the street, going closer to the monster instead of running away like a _reasonable person_ would. He was helping up people who had fallen when running away, making sure everyone was okay, and he was waving, clearly trying to direct the crowd. 

He was Iron Man too, all right; straight out of surgery and already trying to help people who weren’t even from his own world. Tony hoped he was half as strong himself.

He flew up the street to help Carol, and soon Spider-Man and Cap joined in. They managed to keep the monster contained—even if everyone was covered in slime, and Tony was happier about being in the armour than ever—but they couldn’t seem to hurt it, and then Doctor Strange _did_ finally arrive, confirming Tony’s initial hypothesis.

Bloody magic.

“This is worrying,” Stephen said.

“Can’t you get rid of it?” Steve’s voice was cold.

“Easily, Captain,” Stephen replied. “It just shouldn’t have been able to cross into our dimension.”

Tony thought of their current alternate universe guest and wondered if there was a connection. Stephen banished the monster, but he was still frowning, clearly worried.

“That’s it, Doctor?” Tony asked. “The monster is gone and the slime remains? Have you _tried_ cleaning all this armour?”

Stephen did chuckle at that. “I’m afraid I can’t really help with that.”

“I might have an issue you could weigh in on though,” Tony said. “I kinda have an other me visiting.”

“I need to investigate this first, before something else dangerous comes through,” Stephen said. “Or is it time-sensitive . . . ?”

Tony waved his hand easily. “Sure, come by when you have time.” It didn’t seem things could get worse in that other world, and he didn’t want more magic creatures wandering the streets of his Earth. 

Tony only noticed Steve had been watching the pair of them when Stephen disappeared in a puff of magic smoke.

He opened his mouth to say something, but what could he do, really? _No Steve, I’m not planning to wipe your mind again, trust me_. As if. It wasn’t any wonder Steve looked uneasy. 

“Tony.” Carol touched his arm. “Take the other Tony back to the Tower. We’ll handle the clean-up here.”

“You might need help,” Tony argued. 

Carol raised an eyebrow. “Wanna arm-wrestle me, Iron Man?”

Tony raised his hands. “Point taken, Marvel.” He turned to find his other self, but he didn’t need to do it. The other man was standing near Spider-Man.

Tony couldn’t hear what he said, but whatever it was, Spider-Man really could be emotive in that mask of his, and he was clearly surprised. He shook his head, and something like relief crossed the other Tony’s face. 

“If you are who I think you are,” the other Tony said a bit louder, “Just . . . Well, it’s not important.. Take care no matter what.”

Spider-Man said something quickly and quietly, but he nodded before swinging away to stand behind Cap. 

The other Tony finally sagged a little. He wasn’t hurt, but he must’ve been exhausted, even with the arc reactor boosting up his healing after the surgery. 

“What was that about?” Tony asked, gesturing at Spider-Man. 

The other Tony looked down. “In my world, he’s fifteen. He trusted me, and now he’s dead. Is that the answer you wanted to hear?”

He looked at Tony, full of anger, and Tony remembered to open his faceplate. 

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m not that close to Spider-Man.”

“So I gathered.” The other Tony was breathing heavily, his hand pressed to his forehead as if he was in pain.

Tony regretted asking, but he was never good at stopping his own curiosity. “I’m sorry,” he repeated. “I won’t pry again.”

His other self just looked at him. “Yes you will. I know you.”

“Fair enough.” Tony nodded. “Come on, maybe we’ll finally get to the Tower. Mind if I pick you up?”

“We get my armour fixed, and I’m going to carry _you_ ,” the other Tony said.

“Deal,” Tony said. He closed his faceplate again and gently picked up the other Tony, bridal-style. He wasn’t sure if his counterpart was really strong enough to hold onto the armour the way Steve did when they flew together—when they had flown together. Tony didn’t see that happening again.

It was maybe a minute of flight, really. They were very close, but Tony tried not to accelerate too much, considering the very much human man in his arms. Finally, he set the other Tony down on the Tower rooftop, ordered his own armour to disassemble, and led them both to the lift. 

***

Tony had been scanning the other him for some time, getting nowhere—Stephen’s help might turn out to be not only appreciated but necessary—when the door to the workshop opened. 

He pressed a few more keys, trying to locate the other universe using Reed’s tech, when it hit him that yes, only one person could just enter his workshop, and no, it _wasn’t_ good.

He looked up, and Steve was in the room, paddling around in socks, soft trousers and a blue shirt, his hair still slightly damp from his shower—he must’ve taken ages trying to clean up the slime after the fight. Tony smiled at the white star at Steve’s shirt. 

But the other Tony inhaled sharply, staring at Steve, one hand pressed to his arc reactor as if in fear. Tony frowned.

“Steve,” he said. “What are you doing here?”

Steve glared at him. “Don’t worry, Tony, I’m perfectly aware I can’t help you with anything, and anyway with a second you what else could you hope for?” Steve sounded bitter. “I wanted— _stay_.” His voice turned even colder, and Tony realised that his counterpart had tried to leave the lab. 

What had happened with his Steve? Was he dead like Tony assumed? Had they fought like Tony and Steve had?

The other Tony stopped walking. He turned to face Steve, but he was very pale. “I’m sorry, am I a prisoner here? Did someone forget to mention it? I’m used to Steve hiding things, so it’s no big deal, but . . .” 

“You’re used to lying to me,” Steve interrupted.

Tony stepped between them, wishing he were anywhere but there. “Look, Tony, this is not your Steve. And Steve, I’m right here, so leave him out of it. No one else is responsible for my sins.” He hesitated, then he looked at the other Tony again. “Give us space,” he asked. “My bedroom is in the penthouse, code 34-44-54-64, your fingerprints are the same.”

“You sure you want to . . .?” he moved his head as he spoke, gesturing between Tony and Steve.

Tony nodded. His counterpart left, leaving Steve and Tony alone.

Right. Time to get it out, because Tony couldn’t keep on like that.

“Fuck, Steve,” Tony said. “I _said_ I would leave the team, and the Tower too if that was what you wanted. I said I’d move to Europe—”

“No,” Steve said quickly, almost too quickly. “I want you to stay.”

 _Why?_ Tony longed to ask, but he already knew he wouldn’t get an answer.

“I’m sorry for the incursions,” he repeated, _again_. “I said that already and I mean it. And I know you won’t ever forgive me. But that other me has nothing to do—”

“It’s not—” Steve interrupted him and stopped. He sighed. “I didn’t come down here to argue with you, Tony.”

“It’s the only thing we’re good at anymore,” Tony noted.

“Well, we kept that monster contained today . . .”

Tony knew how this went, _See, we don’t even agree on that_ , but he was tired and Steve was confusing. “ _Why_ did you come down here? You knew he was here.”

Steve winced. “Mostly to ask you for help with my shield and uniform.”

“The slime,” Tony said.

“The slime,” Steve confirmed.

It was almost as it would’ve been, before.

“Give me your things, I’m currently de-sliming my armour but your stuff can be next.” Tony felt himself unwinding slowly. 

Steve sighed. “Tony.”

Tony looked at him. “I know what it looked like earlier, with Strange. I just want to ask him how to get the other-me back where he comes from.”

Steve just nodded. He went back to the workshop door and then he hesitated. “You said—in your counterpart’s world, his Steve might be dead. But it looks rather like we reversed our roles there, doesn’t it?”

It took Tony a moment to understand what Steve meant and Tony’s other self saying he was used to Steve lying to him. Tony shook his head. “You’d never.”

“You don’t even remember the war,” Steve said.

“Yeah, and doesn’t that serve to show how spectacularly I fucked up?” Tony asked back, but Steve was shaking his head, already heading back out the door. Tony didn’t stop him.

He wiped at his face. He was exhausted. He should keep working but suddenly all he wanted was to sleep.

He could check up on his counterpart and then find himself a guest room and then, somehow, the world would be just a little bit better.

***

The other Tony had clearly helped himself into Tony’s pyjamas, as the sleeves were too long for him, but it wasn’t like he had any clothes of his own anyway. He was lying on top of the covers, asleep, but fitfully; his face was screwed as if in pain and he was thrashing around wildly.

Tony bit his lip. He knew nightmares. Usually he woke from them alone.

He took out spare blankets from the wardrobe and spread them over his other self to keep him warm and comfortable. After a moment of hesitation, he touched his arm.

“Hey, Tony.” He squeezed his arm. “You’re safe now.”

Tony struggled, pulling his arm from beneath the blanket and raising one hand as if to protect his head. “Steve, no.”

Tony felt himself go cold. What the hell had happened in that world? “Come on, wake up.” Tony shook him slightly stronger now.

The other Tony opened eyes, wide and frightened. “Wha—”

“You’re safe,” Tony said again. “You’re in another universe, you’re safe now, I’m sorry I woke you but you had nightmares—”

The other him closed his eyes and sighed. “Did I say anything?”

“No,” Tony lied. He considered something and made a decision. “Scoot over,” he said. “I know for a fact this bed is big enough for way more than two people.”

The other Tony raised an eyebrow. “I’m happy testing it out just the two of us,” he drawled.

Tony chuckled. “Of course you are,” he said. “You _are_ me.”

His counterpart did move, though, and Tony lay down next to him and pulled the blankets over himself too.

He didn’t fall asleep immediately, he never did, but the slow breathing of his other self, ideally matched to his own, soothed him until he drifted off.

***

They didn’t talk much the following day. Tony was focused on his scripts and the other Tony was attempting to fix his armour. Tony couldn’t blame him, and anyway, he wouldn’t want to send him back to his world without a functioning suit. 

He sighed. Who was he kidding? He was _curious_ about the tech. And he wasn’t making much leeway on multidimensional portals in a post-incursions universe.

“Mind if I help?” he asked.

The other Tony shook his head. “You can hardly steal my ideas.”

Tony laughed. “Yeah. I used to have my suit stored in my bones, similar to what you’re doing with the reactor.”

“Used to?”

Tony shrugged. “It didn’t really end well, wiring it into my own neural system like that.” He sighed. “The current armour was supposed to be temporary, to be honest, but bigger problems arose and . . .” He trailed off. He hadn’t been able to update his suit, not in any serious, in-depth manner, when he had to lie to Steve and build weapons at the same time. The black colour scheme, while unplanned, had turned out to be very fitting. His other self’s armour was already giving him ideas, though. He’d never again build something he literally couldn’t be separated from, but he missed Bleeding Edge’s versatility. Having it stored in something small that was nevertheless not a part of his body was really the obvious choice, now that he thought about that. 

“Bigger problems.” The other Tony hesitated. “Ste—Rogers?”

“A part of it,” Tony admitted. It was his turn to hesitate, but then, he had to know. “You love him too, don’t you?”

The other Tony looked away. “Does it matter? I thought for a time we were getting somewhere, together. But then—well, what I felt had never been important,” he said bitterly. “And now I don’t even know if he’s alive.” He looked down on his hands, rubbed them as if trying to clean them of something Tony couldn’t see. “I know I need to go back, but what am I supposed to do then?” he whispered. 

“You can read through our databases on Thanos,” Tony offered. “Were the Infinity Gems involved?”

The other Tony narrowed his eyes. “You have them too?”

“Had,” Tony said. “They broke. But reality manipulation is a messy thing. The universe wants to get back on its correct track.”

“No.” The other Tony shook his head. “I have to plan how to move forward. I can’t hope for a magical reset button.”

Tony knew better than anyone the temptations and the dangers of the Infinity Gauntlet, but he also remembered being desperate enough to pin all his hopes on it. He remembered what happened when that failed. His other self was wiser than him not to give in to it.

“But also, if we _could_ wrestle the Stones from Thanos . . .” the other Tony had a calculating look on his face now. “It can’t be plan A, but I can’t ignore it, either.” He looked around. “I need to get back there first.” 

“Yeah,” Tony said. “With your armour fixed.” He tapped on the chest plate lying on the table and the nanotech forming it swirled around his finger.

“Yeah,” the other him echoed, and got back to work.

***

The other Tony had left the lab with a sigh some time earlier, leaving his armour in the workshop. It was disconnected from his arc reactor for the time being and Tony had connected it to one of his spare RT nodes, and the nanotech was shimmering, fixing itself. There was nothing they could do for a few hours.

Tony assumed he’d find his coutnerpart asleep, but the bedroom was empty. Not really sure where else his other self might’ve gone, Tony headed to the kitchen, but once he got there, he stood in the doorway, frozen to the spot.

He was pretending really very hard that the glass his other self was currently nursing contained apple juice. The colour was too rich and the situation too familiar, night time mixed with loneliness and bad decisions.

Tony was tired too, and for a one long, terrible second he was tempted to sit next to his counterpart and take the glass himself.

A memory; a countdown until the end of the world and a kitchen counter full of vodka shots.

 _You won’t defeat me_.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Steve’s voice was loud and unexpected. Tony turned to the door, and there he was, dressed in pyjamas and too awake for the hour, but with sleep-mussed hair. The question was on the top of Tony’s tongue, _Bad dreams_ , but he stopped himself in time.

“Did I already manage to annoy you in another world?” the other Tony asked with a sigh. “I’m _not_ signing any documents you don’t like, so what is the problem here?”

“Where did you even get it?” Steve snapped. 

The other Tony looked at his glass. “Sorry, were you saving it for a special occasion? The moment you two manage to talk normally, or?”

Steve ran his eyes over Tony, as if even looking at him for longer than a second was too much. Tony had offered time and time again to leave the team and move out of the Tower if just his mere _presence_ was such a burden, but Steve didn’t want to hear about it. Times like this, Tony really didn’t understand _why_.

“ _Where did you get it_ ,” Steve repeated. He looked back at Tony. “Are you—”

“You’re _not_ asking me that,” Tony all but yelled, desperate to stop Steve actually formulating the words. He wasn’t sure he could deal with _hearing_ Steve insinuate he was drinking, even if that was what he was clearly thinking. “We had Logan on a team not that long ago.” And they had guests who drank, and Tony offered alcohol to his business partners, pouring them drinks with steady hands when they expected him to waver, and _hell_ , there were countless possibilities and Tony hated that Steve made him _explain it_.

Steve turned back to the other Tony, still clearly annoyed. “At least don’t drink it in front of him.”

Tony raised his eyebrow. “He can drink whatever he wants,” he said, wondering how after everything he still could lie to Steve so easily. 

“Tony—”

“Steve,” Tony interrupted. “He’s not me, I’m not gonna drink just because he is, I don’t—”

“Don’t even try to tell me you don’t mind,” Steve said, almost gently.

“My sobriety isn’t that fragile.” Tony looked at the glass again, and it was a mistake, the longing was—

“Back up a moment,” the other Tony said. “You don’t drink?”

“You didn’t google me?” Tony raised his eyebrow. 

“I know what kind of shit internet says about me,” the other Tony replied. “Was that a yes? That sounded like a yes. Fuck. Sorry. I didn’t know.”

Tony looked at the glass again. “It’s okay,” he said. “I came here to get some water.”

If his counterpart could tell he was lying, he didn’t let it show. Tony took out a glass and opened the tap, turning his back on the other Tony and his whiskey.

They needed to talk about it, or actually, _Tony_ needed to talk about it, and he needed his counterpart to listen—but not now, not in front of Steve. He remembered his first time trying to talk to Carol about her addiction, the terrible way it had ended. Could he do better with another Tony Stark? It had taken him almost dying to quit drinking.

“Tony.” Steve’s hand was suddenly wrapped around his wrist, pulling him away from the sink. 

Tony blinked a few times. Steve closed the tap. Tony’s hand was completely wet. He hadn’t noticed the glass filling or the water spilling over the brim. 

“ _It’s okay_?” Steve quoted at him, quietly enough only Tony could hear.

“I can’t force my choices on him. It doesn’t work that way.” He looked at his hand. Steve’s fingers were still on his wrist, warm and somehow grounding, a familiar touch, even if Steve hadn’t tried to comfort him for months. Tony didn’t know why he was trying now, either. Whatever had been between them was now shattered glass, painful to tread on. 

“I’m not sure I trust him,” Steve said.

Tony smiled bitterly. “Of course you don’t. He _is_ me.”

Steve let Tony’s wrist go as if burnt.

Tony didn’t say anything else as Steve walked out.

“Okay, other me.” The other Tony crossed his arms. “Out with it.”

Tony turned away and put the glass back in the cabinet, making sure to set it down hard. Maybe if he pretended he hadn’t heard the question . . . 

“You still live together, how bad can it be?”

Tony looked down. _How bad can it be_? Worse than his other self could imagine, that was for damn sure.

“I’ve no idea why he hasn’t kicked me out either,” Tony said finally. His counterpart frowned. Tony caught his gaze and said, four short words, the weight of over a decade of broken friendship behind them. “I erased his memories.”

The other Tony recoiled as if hit.

“I erased his memories,” Tony repeated, his voice cold and clinical when he felt anything but, “and I lied to him for months, I pretended everything was fine, I smiled at him and I helped him through nightmares—and I kept building weapons, bombs able to destroy whole planets and break worlds.”

“Why?” the question was so quiet Tony could barely make it out, even though he’d expected it.

“Why else?” he asked. “I thought it was the only way to save him.”

The other Tony laughed, short and bitter. “So that’s how it goes,” he said. “In my world, he lied to me.”

“Say that again?” Tony said. 

His other self looked at him, challenging. “You heard me,” he said.

Tony couldn’t imagine it. He and Steve clashed and disagreed and fought and almost brought the world down with them, but throughout it all it was Tony compromising and Tony going against what he knew was right to do what was necessary, not Steve. Never Steve.

“He said we’d fight together. He said we’d lose together, if it came down to it.” The other Tony was staring into space, his fingers touching his arc reactor. “He failed to say that Barnes killed my parents. When he was looking for him, and when he found him, later, when it looked like Barnes had killed T’Chaka—he always trusted him, never me.”

“He trusted me,” Tony whispered. “He trusted me and I used that trust. I used him.”

“But you’re still on one team.”

Tony shrugged helplessly. “I said I’d quit. He wouldn’t hear it.”

"He sent me a phone," the other Tony said. "I couldn't use it. I don't even know if I _wanted_ to, but I _couldn't_." He looked up at Tony. "You know, hearing you say what you did, I don’t want to believe it. We're the same person. I can't even _imagine_ making a decision like that. And yet—"

Tony sighed. "It's okay," he said. "I get it if you hate me now—"

"Whoa there, hold on." The other Tony raised his hands. "I think you hate yourself enough without me adding to it. And that wasn't my point."

"You say that like you don't hate yourself, too," Tony said, sharper than he wanted.

"Yeah," his counterpart said. "Because you did all that shit, and it's killing you. And . . . I don't even know if my Steve is still alive. I don't even let myself think that, most of the time, because I'm not sure I can go on if he isn't. And still, I'm not sure I can forgive him. I want to see him, and I never want to talk to him again. Even now. Even after Thanos. So doesn't that make me the monster?" He downed his drink.

Tony tried not to wince. Alcohol was his problem. As for his other self . . . “You’re not a monster, Tony.”

The other Tony’s eyes turned cold. “No?” He reached for the bottle and poured himself another drink, almost to the brim of the glass. “Are you as good a liar when you’re not sober? Care to give it a try?” He offered the glass to Tony, and it was ridiculous, they were on different sides of the room, Tony couldn’t even smell the alcohol from that far out, but he recoiled all the same, his back hitting the kitchen counter. 

“How could you do that to me?” he let out, his voice shaking and his throat tight. 

A shiver went through the other him; he almost spilled the drink and then he put it back on the table and averted his eyes. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. 

Tony shook his head. He wasn’t sure himself if he meant that he didn’t want the apology or that it wasn’t necessary. He _got_ the way the other man thought, was the worst thing, he understood being broken and lashing out at the world, but there was something akin to betrayal deep in his gut, and his hands were trembling at his sides, and damn, _he wanted that drink_. 

“Move aside,” the other Tony ordered him, taking up both the glass and the bottle and moving towards the sink. Tony watched him pour both down the drain. It took all of his self-control not to grab him and stop him and put the bottle to his lips.

The other Tony opened his mouth again. “Save it,” Tony said. “But for the record, you didn’t change my mind.”

“It was a dick move and you didn’t deserve it.”

Tony glared at him. “I said, save it.” He sighed. Neither of them would be getting any sleep now. “I’m gonna head back to the workshop. You should come with me.” 

He walked out, and his other self followed.

***

“Hey, Tony.” Steve’s voice sounded loud in the lab. Tony looked up from where he was tinkering with his other self’s gauntlet to see him holding a tray with two coffee cups and a paper bag. “I brought you bagels,” Steve said.

Tony raised his eyebrows, surprised. “Thanks,” he said. He set his tools down and wiped his hands on his t-shirt.

“Where’s the other you?”

“Showering.” Tony walked to Steve and took one cup of coffee from him. “This is life-saving, Steve.” He carefully didn’t mention how it’d been ages since Steve last brought him food when he was working. It had used to be normal, everyday, even, but the incursions brought a heed to that, like to most other things. 

Steve smiled. “You and coffee,” he said, almost fondly. He grew serious then. “Look, Tony—I know we keep arguing. I miss the times when we didn’t.”

Tony stared at the coffee. “We can’t just go back,” he said. “I know what I did.”

“You really don’t have to remind me,” Steve said. “But I’m _trying_ to move forward. Try with me.”

He didn’t deserve it. He didn’t get why Steve was doing it. He wanted them to be comfortable with each other again, but it was only a matter of time before he hurt Steve again. He couldn’t let himself do that.

He wished things were easier.

“So I was thinking, if we reverse the polarity—” Tony’s counterpart trailed off. “Am I interrupting?”

Tony turned to see him standing in the doorway.

“No,” Steve said. “I just brought you breakfast. Both of you.” He set the paper bag and the other cup of coffee at the table to Tony’s right.

The other Tony titled his head. “Is that bagels?” he asked, uncertain, clearly caught up in his own memories. 

They were a mess, all of them, Tony thought.

“I’ll leave you to it, then,” Steve said.

Tony wanted to tell him to stay, or better yet grab his hand and keep him close.

He didn’t.

***

Tony didn’t really like being in the living room. There wasn’t a team housed in the Tower, currently, and more often than not it felt empty; the times when he ran into Steve there were just awkward. But much as he loved his workshop, he was going crazy trying to pinpoint how to travel to another universe when every scan he tried told him it was impossible while also confirming that yes, the other Tony Stark was definitely from a different world. Tony was sure he was missing something glaringly obvious, and yet, he couldn’t pinpoint it.

“There you are.” The other Tony walked into the room. “Did you get tired of me?”

“Tired of failing to find a solution,” Tony answered honestly. 

“I’ll be able to help out now.” The other Tony grinned.

Tony stood up at that. “Did you fix your armour?”

His other self didn’t reply verbally. Instead, he tapped his arc reactor, and his armour slid out of it, what looked like a liquid layer of metal covering him head-to-two in a split second.

Tony stared at it, not even trying to hide his fascination. “That is _wonderful_ ,” he said. He stepped closer and touched the armour. It was smooth and warm, the metal unyielding. It gave him a tingling sensation in his fingers. It wasn’t that Tony never witnessed the armour on someone else—he worked on suits for both Pepper and Rhodey, after all. But those he had designed himself. The armour in front of him was something else, familiar and different. He let his hands wander down the chest plate.

“I’m glad to find you appreciative,” his other self said, the helmet retracting. The armour morphed: a pair of butterfly-like wings showed on its back, probably to help with manoeuvring in air, and then they retracted, changing into separate air cannons, before connecting back with the main armour as if nothing had ever changed.

“This is so hot,” Tony said, his eyes wide.

“Is it,” the other Tony muttered, and then the armour was gone, and Tony found himself with his hands around his counterpart’s waist.

“Oh yes,” he said, and he kissed him.

Without the armour, the other Tony was slightly shorter. He kissed back hungrily, his beard scraping against Tony’s mouth. Tony held him by the arms, firmly, and took a few blind steps back. When he felt the sofa behind his knees he half-sat, half-fell into it, pulling his counterpart with him. The other man straddled him, one of his hands sliding under Tony’s shirt. Tony arched up.

Someone gasped.

It took Tony a moment to realise it wasn’t either of them. 

One hand over his other self’s waist, keeping him close, he looked up.

Steve was standing in the open door, his eyes wide, his hands gripping the door frame so hard it had cracked. 

“I’m sorry,” Steve said finally in a tight voice, and closed the door.

Tony leant his head back.

“You’re hurting me,” the other him said, and only then did Tony realise he was digging his fingers into his waist, hard.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

“No worries.” The other Tony looked down at him carefully. “You’re not going after him?”

Tony threw a hand over his eyes. “What would be the point?”

The other Tony shook his head in disbelief. He leant in and pressed a quick kiss to Tony’s lips. “Other me, you can be really dumb sometimes,” he said. He got up. 

Tony glared at him. “We could just continue in the bedroom.”

“While you think of your Steve?” The other Tony raised an eyebrow. “Not my thing. But I’m going to talk to him. Let’s say I’ve got a unique perspective.”

Tony should be stopping him, he was pretty sure, but . . . There was something appealing about the idea. His other self could hardly make things with Steve _worse_ at this point.

He watched the other Tony smooth down his clothes before leaving, and sighed.

He would never have Steve anyway. And he’d _wanted_ that moment of fun and closeness with his other self, someone who by definition knew him like he knew himself. 

But Steve hadn’t seemed angry, when he interrupted them. Not even surprised. More . . . regretful. Jealous.

And that didn’t make any sense at all.

***

Tony would love to go back to making out with the alternate him—or here-him, as it were—but his counterpart seemed surprisingly blind when it came to his own Steve, and well, Tony couldn’t just ignore it. Even though the prospect of talking to _any_ Steve was scary.

“Steve!” he forced himself to call; not _Rogers_ like he wanted to say. 

The man stopped at the end of the corridor and carefully turned back.

“Sorry, I’m not your Tony,” Tony said.

“I can see that,” Steve replied. “Look, I didn’t mean to interrupt, you can go back to him, it’s none of my business—”

“Uh-huh,” Tony said, stepping closer to him. He forced himself to keep breathing regularly. _This wasn’t the Steve who broke his heart, figuratively, and literally, when he slammed his shield into Tony’s chest plate and shattered his ribs and made it once again necessary for Tony to have the arc reactor_. 

_It wasn’t him_.

“Tony?” Steve kept his voice even. “You all right?”

Angry at himself, Tony nodded. “I wanted to talk,” he said, but he could already see it wouldn’t be easy, if even standing next to the man was making it hard for him to breathe. 

Himself and the Tony from this world, they weren’t that similar. The here-Tony was taller and blue-eyed, a good look on him if Tony said so himself. But the Steve from this universe. . . While he seemed slightly older, he was almost the same as Tony’s Steve, tall and strong and _present_. 

Steve nodded, taking a step back. “You looked like you were on the verge of a panic attack,” he said, almost gently.

“Why do you care? I’m not your Tony.”

Steve smiled sadly. “Maybe I don’t like any Tony in pain,” he said. “Look, you’re clearly not lying about who you are, so I promise I won’t hurt you.”

Tony hated being so obvious, hated that a man who didn’t know him at all guessed so easily that he was afraid, and most of all he hated how he couldn’t believe him.

“There’s an empty room around the corner,” Steve said. “Let’s talk there. I’ll bring you some water.”

Tony nodded, following and hating himself even more for feeling jealous.

Here was a Steve, hurt by his own Tony beyond all imagination, and still _caring_ for him so very much.

Had Tony ever had a chance for something like that? Or had it all been a lie, before Siberia, when Steve had seemed to move closer to Tony with every day?

He breathed in and out, tried to steady his breathing according to the techniques Rhodey had taught him, and slowly walked to the room. It was a spacious one, with a sofa and a TV and no personal belongings or decorations, and it helped Tony, this lack of pressing emotions, a space cold and impersonal as a hotel room. He’d almost completely calmed down by the time Steve returned, a glass of cold water in his hand.

Tony drank it in a few gulps. “Thanks,” he said. 

Steve nodded. “So, you wanted to talk.”

“About you,” Tony admitted. “What’s your deal with your Tony?”

Steve gritted his teeth and looked away. “He—”

“I know what he did,” Tony said. “But you could’ve kicked him out. You could’ve left.”

“I couldn’t,” Steve corrected him without heat.

“And you were saying how it’s none of your business who Tony kisses, right, and this seems just _a bit_ weird to me, because then why were you jealous?”

Steve coughed. “I’m—”

“He betrayed you,” Tony talked over him, “and you still care.”

Steve sat heavily in a chair. “You really don’t have to tell me how I feel. I’m perfectly aware of it myself.”

Tony whistled. “I expected more denial. So . . .”

“Stay out of it,” Steve said sharply.

“He thinks you hate him,” Tony shot back. “Is that what you want?”

“I think I hate him, too,” Steve admitted quietly. 

Tony sighed. He put his fingers to the art reactor just to make sure it was there, a comfort gesture that didn’t make any logical sense. “My Steve—if he had told me the truth, we might be in a better place now.”

Except they wouldn’t, because together or not, there was no fighting Thanos. Would dying at Steve’s side be better than getting stabbed on a distant planet?

Yes, Tony thought, yes it would. But this wasn’t about _him_ now. This was about his counterpart, who had quite literally saved Tony’s life, who seemed more comfortable in his own skin than Tony had ever been and who was still so fundamentally broken, who deserved some happiness. Tony knew he was selfish, and if his chances for a happy ending were gone, he could at least help his other self.

Steve looked at him. “In your world,” he said, quietly, “I hurt you.” It wasn’t a question.

Tony nodded anyway. “My other self, here. He couldn’t imagine you hurting him.” It was breathtaking, the amount of trust this other Tony had in his Steve when they weren’t even on talking terms.

“He doesn’t remember,” Steve said in a low voice. “He used me, and I can’t forgive him for it, but I did the same.”

“So every you is a hypocrite,” Tony commented. Was he even surprised?

Steve didn’t defend himself. He looked into space. “We fought a war,” he said. “I used his trust. I almost killed him.”

There was a ghost of pain in Tony’s ribcage, cold creeping around him. He forced himself to keep listening. 

“Then—things happened. He thought I died. I was told it almost destroyed him.” He pressed his fingertips to his temples. “He wiped his own memories.”

“Oh, is that a hobby he has?” Tony said, trying to wrap his head around that revelation. Some things he learnt about this world just didn’t make any sense. He felt he had to accept what he heard and go with it, because trying to explain it was like trying to understand Escher’s drawings. 

Steve glared at him, and there was a sliver of fear in Tony’s mind, a warning of what Steve could do to him. 

Why did it still matter, now?

“I don’t know if my—if the Steve from my world is still alive,” Tony admitted finally.

Steve didn’t look surprised. Did his Tony tell him about Tony’s world, somewhere in between their shouting matches?

“What did he do to you?” Steve asked after a moment, and Tony closed his eyes and let the words flow.

Maybe it’d stop hurting, if he repeated it enough. He was hoarse when he finished talking, recalling it all: the accords, the fights. Siberia. What he did, and what Steve did, too. But he didn’t say the truth about the arc reactor.

“I’m sorry,” Steve said at the end of it, quietly. “I lied to my Tony too. But I can’t imagine hiding something like that.”

Tony shook his head. “Let’s not go there,” he said. Steve and him had both made mistakes, but it was between them, not between their counterparts from a different universes. The parallels only got them so far.

“The thing is,” Steve said, “I think, by now, I can recognise Tony Stark hiding things.”

Tony looked at him sharply. “I’m not—”

“You covered your RT when you first saw me,” Steve said. “You’re covering it now.”

Tony lowered his hand, startled. He hadn’t realised he was doing it. “It’s not an RT node like your Tony has,” he said, avoiding the question.

“But it serves the same purpose.” Steve sounded certain.

“Fine,” Tony snapped. “You want to hear it, great. He— _you_ slammed your shield in my chest, and my heart gave out. Happy now?”

But Steve was looking as if Tony hit him, now, like he hadn’t known the answer when he asked, or more probably he’d hoped to be wrong. 

“Tony said your world was like his worst nightmare,” he said. “But it’s like mine, too.”

“All of that,” Tony said, “And I still wish he hadn’t left. That he’d cared enough.”

“I can’t imagine my life without Tony,” Steve whispered. “He’s been my constant ever since the ice. Even when we fought. I don’t think another me can be very different, here.”

“Can you ever forgive him?” Tony asked, but he was thinking about himself and his Steve.

This Steve, belonging to the world they were in, smiled sadly. “I don’t know,” he said. “But I hope so. I want to.”

***

After the emotional roller-coaster that was that day, Tony craved a drink. He was lying to himself, of course; he craved a drink almost every day, especially since Siberia, and the memory of Peter dying in his arms was almost too much to bear after he’d come down from the painkillers. 

It wasn’t a good sign and he knew it. Had known it, even before he’d searched out the whiskey and poured himself a glass the other night.

He walked to Tony’s bedroom and knocked on the door frame. The here-Tony looked up from his tablet immediately. 

“How did you do it, other me?” Tony asked quietly. “Stop drinking?”

“I lost everything,” the other Tony replied. “But I don’t recommend my way.”

Tony looked at his hands. Dealing with the world, sober, seemed too much.

“You make the decision every day,” the other Tony said. “You have to be stubborn.” He smiled lopsidedly. “Then again, you’re me. I think you got that part down.”

“I’ll try,” Tony promised.

A part of him wanted to kiss his other self again, continue from where Steve interrupted them earlier, lose himself in it. One form of oblivion to take up space from another. Another part wondered if it was fair to any of them.

A ringtone went off, shockingly loud in the night. 

Here-Tony almost jumped up, grabbed for his phone at the night stand and put it to his year. “Yeah, Stephen? Sure, come by—if you _must—_ hey, other me, how do you feel about telepo—”

Tony didn’t hear more, but it was enough to explain to him what was happening. Everything went black for an unidentifiable amount of time, and when he could see again, and was standing on something solid once more, he was in what looked like a wizard’s workshop.

Which it probably was, because Stephen Strange—not the one that gave his life for Tony’s—was standing in the middle of it. 

And there, next to him, stood Steve Rogers, the very same one Tony almost mourned, convinced he must’ve been dead; the same one he was so scared of ever seeing again, the same one that Tony needed to see to be able to live with himself.

It was the Steve that meant _home_ , even if home was long lost.

“Tony,” Steve said.

“Rogers.” Tony didn’t step closer. He forced himself to keep his hands at his sides, even though all he wanted to do was to cover the arc reactor and ideally activate the armour, keep himself away and _safe_.

But it would only be an illusion. Thanos had stabbed him with a part of his own armour. Steve could do the same.

Tony wasn’t ready for this.

His other self moved a step forward, situating himself between Tony and Steve. “This is unexpected, Stephen,” he said. 

“To me as well,” Strange said. His voice was different, with no hint of a British accent, but his face was the same, and Tony had to dig his fingernails into his hand. He still didn’t understand why Strange had saved his life and doomed them all, but this man wouldn’t hold the answers.

And how had Steve gotten here?

He had normal clothes on, not his uniform. He looked pale and ragged, not like himself at all with the beard. _He was alive_ , as if miracles really did exist.

And Tony didn’t know how to react to this knowledge at all.

“Remember that slime monster that you so appreciated?” Strange asked.

“I had to run three cleaning cycles on my armour,” the other Tony said, disgusted. 

“I told you then it shouldn’t have been able to cross into our dimension. You know yourself the issues with multiverse travel after the incursions. And yet we have a Captain America and an Iron Man from a different world here.”

“The same world,” Tony said. “Right?” He was suddenly anxious. What if it wasn’t actually his Steve? What if they just looked like each other’s Steve and Tony? What if—

Strange made a gesture with his hand, and for a moment colourful light engulfed everything in the room: bright blue for the other Tony and Strange, red for Steve and Tony. Various items strewn on the shelves around them shone in all the colours of the rainbow.

“Earth-199999, both of you,” Strange confirmed, and Tony’s legs went weak with relief. 

“Oh thank god,” Steve let out.

Strange was frowning, though. “There is more magic on you,” he said, addressing Tony. 

“Are you telling me magic brought us here?” Tony winced. 

“It is possible,” Strange confirmed. “Or it brought only you here, making a path for the other disturbances.”

Tony looked at Steve again, briefly. Did he know anything of what happened to Tony? Did he fight Thanos, too, or did he just have to witness half of his world dying with no idea _why_?

“I met the Stephen Strange of my world,” Tony said, his voice only slightly shaking. “He had this amulet, like you, and the Time Stone inside of it.”

Strange frowned. “The Infinity Gems are gone,” he said, “and this has never been one.”

Was he lying to protect it? Were even magic artefacts different here?

“They’re not gone in my world,” Tony settled on saying. “Thanos wanted to collect them. You—that Strange, he said he was the guardian of the Time Stone. We took the fight to Thanos’ planet. I saw what he could do on Earth, I wanted to save it.” And he failed. He failed so completely. “Strange said he saw only one way to defeat Thanos. But then Thanos was about to kill me, and Strange traded the Time Stone for my life.”

He didn’t want to look at Steve. He didn’t want to see the moment when he realised it was Tony’s fault everything happened. “Thanos disappeared, then. He must’ve gotten the final Stone, because he got what he wanted. Half the universe dead.” 

“Including the Strange of your world,” Strange said now.

Tony nodded and didn’t think of Peter clinging to his arms, slowly changing to ash. He _didn’t_. But there was someone else he thought of, and he looked straight at Steve. “Rhodey and Pepper . . .?”

“They’re alive,” Steve said, and Tony could sob out of sheer relief.

“If my other self sacrificed the Stone for your life,” Strange said, his eyes boring into Tony’s, “that means that the one scenario in which Thanos can be defeated is one where _you_ are alive.”

Tony took a step back, swaying on his feet, his momentary giddiness gone. _No_. This couldn’t be on him. It was too much. They’d lost already. He couldn’t handle this much responsibility, this much guilt. 

“It was for nothing, then,” he forced himself to say. “Thanos got what he wanted.”

He felt someone touch him; his other self, steadying him with a warm hand. “Infinity Gauntlet,” here-Tony said quietly. “I told you.”

Strange nodded slowly. “Tony Stark of our world is still the only human to use it successfully,” he said.

“I didn’t do much with it,” Tony’s counterpart said as Tony turned to stare at him. 

“Now you turn humble,” Strange chuckled. “No, I think this must’ve been what my counterpart saw.”

“Thanos came to Earth,” Steve said quietly. “We failed to keep the Stone from him. But when he got it, he just left.” He sounded pained. “And then people started dying.”

“We weren’t able to keep him from gathering the Stones,” Tony said. “How are we supposed to get them back when he’s got the full Gauntlet?”

“He won’t expect it,” Steve said. “The Avengers were created to fight the impossible odds.”

“The Avengers are gone!” Tony yelled.

Even if miraculously someone else from the team survived, the team itself had broken apart long before Thanos.

Tony didn’t see a way out.

“Hey, other me,” his counterpart said. “The Avengers are never truly gone. As long as there’s someone willing to do the right thing—it doesn’t even matter if they remember the name. The Avengers are hope.”

Tony shrugged his hand off. “I can’t do it,” he said, shame burning at his eyes. “I can’t, okay, I—”

“We can,” Steve spoke up. “Together.”

Tony froze. “You don’t get to say that,” he spit out. 

Steve wasn’t backing down. “Do you see another way?”

“Maybe we should leave you to talk,” Tony’s counterpart said.

Tony glared at him. “Like you talk to your Steve?”

The worst part was that deep down, Tony knew they were right. This was the only way. He had to trust Steve again. They had to go to space again, face Thanos again, and wrestle the Infinity Gauntlet from him, or die trying. 

But Tony was scared.

One could think that after surviving the end of the world, he wouldn’t have much to fear anymore, but this was it, all the things that had been causing him nightmares for years, and he wasn’t strong enough to face them. 

He had to be, though. He was Iron Man. He had to help his world. It wasn’t a choice.

“Okay,” he said, feeling as if the walls were closing around him. “Okay. Let’s go to space and try and surprise Thanos, no big deal, right.” If he sounded hysterical, he really thought no one could blame him.

Relief crossed Steve’s face.

“How do we get back to our world?” he asked.

“By magic,” Strange said. “Complicated, time-consuming magic. I’ll need at least a day to prepare the spell. Like I said, this kind of travel shouldn’t be possible.”

“Right,” Tony’s counterpart said. “Back to the Tower, then?”

***

Standing in the Tower’s living room with the other Tony, with _Steve_ , Tony knew he had to make one more decision.

“Let’s talk, then,” he said, nodding at Steve.

The other Tony patted him on the back. “I’ll be in the workshop,” he said. 

“This is . . . a lot,” Steve said when they were alone. His shoulders hunched, and it was as if he’d taken off a mask, as if he didn’t want to pretend with Tony.

 _Did you know_ , Tony had asked, and it’d turned out Steve had been pretending all along.

But Tony had been here for days, had gotten used to the idea of different universes, had started and abandoned a million plans. “How long have you been here?” he asked.

“Couple hours,” Steve said in a tight voice. “That man—Strange—explained different universes to me. It’s not so out there after you meet Thor, right? But seeing two of you was weird.”

“Right,” Tony said, “Sorry Thanos didn’t erase me too.”

Steve looked at him weirdly. “That’s not what I meant at all,” he said. He flexed his hands. “I’d mourned you, Tony,” he said after a moment, sounding wrecked. “I kept going because someone had to take care of the survivors, and you weren’t there, and you hadn’t been there for months but at least I knew you were okay—”

“I wasn’t okay.” Tony’s words surprised even himself.

Steve looked away. “Right,” he said. “I _am_ sorry.”

Tony exhaled slowly. “I know.” His heart was beating wildly in his chest. “We have to work together.” It was easier to say than to do.

“Tony,” Steve said. “When I saw you alive—I think it was the first time I’ve felt happy since Siberia.”

 _Since you left_ , Tony thought but didn’t say.

“I don’t know how I feel,” Tony admitted. “Before, Steve. I thought we were getting somewhere.” He didn’t make it a question, because chances were he didn’t want to hear the answer.

“We were,” Steve breathed, and it made things both better and worse.

It didn’t change the fact that Steve had lied. It didn’t change the fact that he’d left.

But Tony had nightmares where Steve didn’t stop him, too, nightmares where he killed Barnes and had to look into a mirror and see a murderer. Steve had saved him from that, at least, even if he’d disappointed him in every other way. 

Tony thought of his other self, hopelessly in love with his own Steve, and yet, betraying him too. 

Nothing was ever easy.

“In case it needs saying, Steve,” he said, Steve’s name rolling off his tongue easily, smoothly for all that he’d never actually called him that before. It was time for changes, he thought. “I’m glad you’re alive, too.”

Steve’s smile was small and relieved, like the first time Tony had seen it when they saved New York all these years ago.

***

Lunch was an awkward affair. They sat at a table way too big for four people, each holding a plate of Chinese takeaway, and tried not to stare at each other.

“Steve, meet Steve,” Tony’s counterpart said, and both men shook hands, albeit the other Steve didn’t look terribly happy. 

“Is everyone from your world moving here now?” he asked.

“Half of everyone is dead,” Steve replied, frowning. 

Tony exchanged a look with his counterpart. It seemed the two Steves were worse at playing happy teammates with each other. Who would’ve thought?

“Strange will send them back soon,” the other Tony said. He sounded almost apologetic, and his Steve did bristle at hearing the name. 

“And then?” the other Steve asked. “You go back to a world destroyed by Thanos. Do you have a plan?”

Tony set his chopsticks down. Suddenly he wasn’t hungry anymore. 

“Thanos doesn’t expect us,” Tony’s Steve said with certainty that Tony knew for a fact he didn’t feel. “A small team can take the Infinity Gauntlet from him.”

The other Steve turned white. “No,” he snarled.

“Steve, it’s--” the other Tony tried to interrupt.

“You mustn’t use the Gauntlet,” the other Steve said, staring intently at his counterpart.

Tony frowned. “What else do you suggest?”

Steve turned his eyes on him, and Tony was surprised to see he was afraid. “You can wield it,” he said. “Not him.”

“Yeah, that was the plan,” Tony said. “Even if I don’t like it, but . . .”

“You can do it,” the other Steve said, and Tony would be humbled by the deep conviction in Steve’s voice if he didn’t know it was aimed at the Tony from this world, really. Strange had already said he’d wielded the Gauntlet successfully. 

“Steve,” the other Tony said. “You know it wasn’t your fault. The Gauntlet can’t operate in another universe. We never should’ve tried it.”

“I was standing in this universe,” Steve said. “If you had tried it, it might’ve worked.”

“It. Wasn’t. Your. Fault.” Tony’s counterpart repeated. “You can blame me for not finding another way. But the Gauntlet breaking wasn’t anyone’s fault.”

Tony’s mind reeled. When they’d said the Gauntlet was destroyed, he’d assumed it was on purpose, to save their world from something like had happened with Thanos. Clearly that wasn’t the case.

The other Steve and Tony were looking at each other, having some kind of a silent conversation. 

Steve, the one from his world, touched Tony’s wrist briefly. “I know you can do it,” he said quietly. “I’m not surprised I couldn’t.”

Tony would argue with that, too, but his other self seemed to have that covered. 

“You’re the best man I know,” he told his Steve in a steady voice. “If someone else had tried doing what you did, the Gems would’ve broken too, and you wouldn’t blame the wielder. The difference is, someone else might not have been able to achieve the goal first.”

The other Steve huffed in disbelief. “Might I remind you what you did after--”

Tony’s counterpart closed his eyes, as if pained. “It wasn’t because of the Gauntlet.”

The other Steve visibly tried to compose himself. “Forget it,” he said. “I told you I wanted to move on. That stands.”

“Right,” Tony’s other self said. “Right.”

The Steve from this world looked back at Tony. “I still hold you’ll save your world,” he said.

It was meant to be encouraging, Tony knew, but he just sighed and leant back in his chair. “Yeah, that’s no big deal at all,” he muttered. He got up. “I’ll be in the lab.”

His Steve looked like he wanted to say something, but Tony didn’t wait for it. He fled the room.

***

“How’re you doing?” Tony’s counterpart walked into the workshop some time later.

“I talked to mine, before that lovely meal,” Tony said, ignoring the question. “Your turn.”

His counterpart sighed. “You know,” he said, “It does make me feel better that I couldn’t find a solution because it’s bloody magic involved, but also, I hate magic.”

Tony rolled his eyes. “You can’t change the topic with me.”

“You just did it with me,” his counterpart noted. 

“Yes, and now, back to your Steve.” Tony glared.

The other Tony sighed. “I know you talked to my Steve, too,” he said finally. “There’s no fixing what I did to him.”

“He brought you coffee just the other day,” Tony said incredulously. 

“He shouldn’t have,” the other Tony snapped.

Tony narrowed his eyes. “Wait, is that your idea of a self-punishment? Push him away because you don’t deserve him? Because you know better than him what he wants?” He’d been there, with Rhodey and Pepper when he thought the arc reactor was going to kill him. He was a pro at pushing his friends away to protect them. 

“You’d know better than me how he must feel.”

“Yeah,” Tony agreed. “And it’s hard, and I don’t know if I _can_ do it, but I _want_ to put it behind me.”

“I found him in the ice,” his counterpart mused, his eyes unfocused. “I keep saying it was the best day of my life, but I think it must’ve been the worst of his.” He sighed. “I said I was here because he wanted me to be, but really it’s because I’m selfish. It’s not like I never did things to hurt him. I want to be near him.”

“You really should tell him that,” Tony said. “And I can’t believe you’re making _me_ offer relationship advise, by the way. I’ve got a terrible track record.”

“I’m not making you,” the other Tony replied. “You got it into your head to make us talk.”

“You saved my life,” Tony reminded him. “You’re helping me save my world.”

“You’d do the same,” his counterpart replied, like he had at the beginning of the whole mess.

“True,” Tony admitted easily. “But if our positions were reversed, I’m sure you’d be trying to help me somehow, too.”

His counterpart made a non-committal gesture that didn’t fool Tony.

They’d met under the worst possible circumstances, but Tony couldn’t regret it. Taking a look at how different and yet similar his life was in another world was fascinating, in a way; seeing a version of himself who made mistakes so big Tony couldn’t imagine them and yet one who’d managed to stop drinking, too.

And really, Tony wanted a moment of comfort, blissful oblivion before he had to face the world again.

“You know, Strange will send me back soon,” Tony said.

The other Tony clearly caught his meaning, going by the way he looked him up and down. “Is that so?” he drawled, his voice dropping lower. 

They _weren’t_ identical, so Tony told himself this didn’t count as being narcissistic as he crossed the distance between them and pulled his other self down into a kiss. 

(But they were just similar enough to know _exactly_ what the other wanted.)

***

Tony followed his counterpart to the kitchen the following morning, only to walk into two Steves glaring at each other.

He felt a stab of uneasiness for a moment; one conversation was nowhere near enough to make things completely okay with his Steve, but at least he was able to push it away pretty quickly, and the overwhelming desire to hide in his armour was no longer there.

“Hi, Tony,” his Steve said. 

“Do I want to ask?” Tony gestured at the two of them.

“We’re fine,” the other Steve replied. “Hi, Tony.”

“Riiiight,” the here-Tony said. “You usually aim that look of disapproval at me.”

Tony had a terrible suspicion. If he and Tony talked about their Steves, did it mean that their Steves had talked about them?

Tony _didn’t_ want to know.

“I need coffee,” he said. 

“Food, not just coffee,” the other Steve said, getting up and finding two mugs for them. It was giving Tony whiplash, the way the other Steve and Tony could argue and snap at each other and miss each other while living together, and then turn domestic and share food like they’d never done anything else. 

Come to think of it, Tony didn’t know how long they’d known each other. He was sure it must’ve been a long time. They were too well attuned to each other for anything else. 

Steve from his world got up too. “Come to the balcony with me?” he asked.

Tony looked longingly in the direction of the coffee maker that was still heating up the water. 

Steve chuckled. “Here, I didn’t touch mine,” he said.

Tony took the proffered mug and downed it, then followed Steve out, a bit uncertain. It was easier staying close to the other Tony than trying to untangle the mess between him and Steve. But he’d have to do it. He’d already started, after all.

And maybe his other self would use that time to talk to _his_ Steve. And pigs would fly.

“I just realised,” Steve said, “this is like a timeout. A moment of peace before we have to act.”

Tony had that thought, too, when he woke up here and realised he wouldn’t be getting back immediately. He had questions about his world now, that Steve would know answers to, but he couldn’t bring himself to ask. He’d see soon enough, probably in only a few hours. He had copies of this world’s databases on Thanos and the related issues. He’d already read as much as he could manage. They would make a plan with the survivors. _Together_ , and for once without secrets.

“I know,” he just said. “I’m actually glad I ended up here.” Even if he was also guilty as hell about it.

“I’m glad for you,” Steve said softly. “Tony, if we do this—if we do it together.”

“We will,” Tony interrupted, because they needed to be on the same page here.

“It’s for Thanos,” Steve said. “I get that.”

Tony felt cold. “You get what,” he said.

“You wouldn’t work with me otherwise, would you? So—I’ll leave, after. If that’s what you want.”

“Fuck, Steve.” Tony wasn’t even sure what to say. “We can’t do it like that. _I_ can’t do it like that.”

Steve frowned.

“We’ll fight together,” Tony said. “We’ll win together.” He couldn’t let himself think otherwise. “And then, then I _hope_ the two of us will stay together. But I can’t stand with you here and make promises when I don’t know if we’ll both make it out alive.”

 _Reality manipulation is tricky_ , his other self had said, and Tony could guess as much himself. He didn’t know what they’d all have to sacrifice to the end point, here. He was a futurist, but right here he couldn’t plan for the future that might never begin. 

“Oh,” Steve said. “Tony, I—”

Tony shook his head. He knew Steve got it now. He didn’t need words. They would save the world, he could believe in that. But Tony wanted them to survive it, too, and that felt like a miracle too many.

He couldn’t stop tensing when Steve hugged him, but he realised almost immediately Steve was comforting him as much as himself. And if Steve needed him now, well.

Tony hugged him back and held him.

Broken as they were, maybe, leaning on each other, they would make it.

***

They headed back to the kitchen some time later. Tony felt calmer. Resigned, maybe. He knew what path he had to take now.

A loud noise came from the kitchen, and Tony quickened his step.

And then he stood in the doorway, his hand extended to block Steve from entering.

There was a broken coffee mug on the floor, probably what Tony had heard. Steve and Tony of this world, inside the kitchen, didn’t pay it any attention. They didn’t notice Tony and Steve returning, either.

Steve had Tony pressed against the wall, his wrists held up in one hand as he kissed the breath out of him. Tony had one leg hooked behind Steve’s knee, as if to try and keep him as close as possible. There were desperate little sounds coming from both of them, and while they were both still clothed, Tony felt voyeuristic.

He’d had his hands and lips on that Tony yesterday, but that was never going to be anything more than a moment of pure fun. What this world’s Steve and Tony had between them was so much more, it was indescribable. 

He softly stepped out, through the living room and back to the balcony, to be most definitely out of their way. His Steve seemed to agree, because he followed after Tony, equally quietly, as if anything could’ve pulled the other Steve and Tony’s attention from each other.

“Um,” Steve said. 

“You can’t tell me you’re surprised,” Tony said, but he knew that wasn’t Steve’s issue. 

Seeing Tony and Steve from this world so entangled in each other . . . Tony wished, fervently, it could’ve been him. That he could still arrive at that point with Steve. And he hoped, now, that that was what Steve felt too. 

“If we survive,” Steve said.

“If we survive,” Tony answered.

***

Strange called them in the evening. Here-Tony resurfaced from Steve’s bedroom, wearing too wide clothes decorated with white stars and looking happier than Tony’s ever seen him, even as he tried to be serious, holding the phone and saying that Strange will teleport them to his workshop soon. 

“So you did talk,” Tony grinned at him.

“ _Talk_ is one thing to call it,” the other Tony said with a laughter. “I will miss you, though. Good luck, Tony.”

“Thanks,” Tony said. “When we finish things—if the Gauntlet really can bring everyone back—I don’t know my Strange that well, I really only just met him before that mess. But maybe he could send you a message.”

“I’d like that,” the other Tony said. His Steve joined them in the corridor, also happy and relaxed, but he frowned at Tony.

“Are you going to be okay with your Steve?” he asked.

Tony shrugged. “We’ll work on it,” he said. This was the only thing he was certain of. He’d do his best.

His own Steve came last, and he looked at the other Steve and Tony standing there together with longing written clearly on his face before he schooled his expression.

The other Tony’s phone went off and he picked it up. “Yeah. All four of us. Thanks—”

A moment of darkness, a moment of nothingness, and the world became real again. Tony winced. Teleportation wouldn’t be his hobby.

“The spell is ready,” Strange said. “I wish I could offer you more help.”

“You’re sending us home,” Steve said. “That’s help enough.”

Tony nodded his agreement. 

Tony’s counterpart wrapped his fingers around Tony’s wrist, pulling him back for a moment and planting a soft kiss on his lips. “Give Thanos hell, Avenger,” he said. 

“You bet,” Tony answered. He expected the other Steve to be annoyed at him, but instead he found him watching them with dark eyes. It would be interesting if Tony weren’t going to fight an unwinnable war now. 

Strange chuckled. “Ready now?”

“Yes,” Tony said. He stood next to his Steve. He didn’t tense when Steve took his hand in his, he just squeezed Steve’s hand, too. 

_Together or not at all_.

Strange must’ve released the spell, because there was that feeling of nothingness again—except for Steve’s hand still in his.

And then they were standing in Wakanda, and Rhodey was running to them, and Tony realised that he was back home.

And he was going to save it.

**Author's Note:**

> If you want to, you can also reblog my tumblr post [here](https://laireshi.tumblr.com/post/174381173187/distortion).
> 
> Kelslk's art post is [here](http://kelslk-art.tumblr.com/post/174380057489/my-art-contribution-to-the-2018-capim-reverse) and I want to reiterate IT'S SO BEAUTIFUL.  
> There's also another fic inspired by this art by Robin_tCJ, [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14791886) (nsfw!).


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